Our Final Problem
by silvannight
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always been brilliant. Brilliantly insensible, that is. And no one has experienced Sherlock's callous indifference quite like Molly Hooper. Starting from "The Final Problem" onward, this story illustrates the conflict of heartbreak & forgiveness through Doyle's classic characters. Can Sherlock learn to truly cherish Molly, or will Molly resent him forever?
1. Chapter 1

_This fic begins with "The Final Problem" and describes what happens afterward between Sherlock and Molly. Hope you enjoy!_

Molly Hooper was going to die if Sherlock didn't act. He couldn't tell her why, and she was utterly oblivious to the invisible danger before her.

"Molly, please," said Sherlock, "Without asking why, just say these words." His face contorted with urgency as he watched her on the screen in front of him. Molly smiled thoughtfully.

"What words?" she asked.

"I love you." he answered matter-of-factly.

Molly's face plummeted instantly as she took the phone from her ear. She couldn't believe this. The _nerve_ he possessed after breaking her heart. She was cut like a knife every time he walked in the room, believing he could never feel, never care for her.

"Leave me alone."

Sherlock's eyes flashed with panic.

"Molly, no please, no, don't hang up! Do _not_ hang up!" he shouted, with a hand outstretched towards her in warning, although she could not see him.

Eurus' eerily chilling, solemn, yet light voice crackled over the prison intercom.

"Calmly, Sherlock, or I will finish her right now."

Sherlock's dry throat twisted itself into knots. He shivered at the thought of Molly lying on a morgue slab, her eyes glazed over as a sheet was pulled across her corpse. The countdown timer ticked ever closer to zero.

1:09…1:08…1:07…

"Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?" asked Molly, her words laced with hurt. The humiliation she had suffered at Christmas years ago came back fresh, like a reopened wound.

"Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me," said Sherlock, as gently as he could in spite of his rising panic. "Molly, this is for a case. It's…it's a sort of experiment."

"I'm not an experiment, Sherlock," said Molly, in her quiet, strong manner. Sherlock instantly regretted his words.

"No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're friends, Molly. Please," he asked sincerely, shutting his eyes as he did so. "Just…say those words for me."

Molly held back a sob with a bravery all her own, while her misty eyes gave her away.

"Please don't do this. Just…just…don't do it." She attempted to guard herself, creating a paltry defense against Sherlock's willful spite, believing full well that when it came, it would crush her.

Sherlock glanced up at the ceiling and forced himself to smile, despite her inability to see him. "This is very important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."

"I can't say that. I can't…I can't say that to you," she said, painfully avoiding the reason.

"Of course you can. Why can't you?" Sherlock mustered another smile. He fought to restrain the betraying sound of distress in his voice.

"You know why."

"No, I _don't_ know why." Sherlock raced his brilliant mind in search of answers. He was only met with fear and despair in failing to discover them. He bit his lip impatiently. Curse his mind!

Molly sniffed and wiped the back of her trembling hand across her nose. Sherlock's eyes darted to the timer as Jim Moriarty's voice taunted him with its harsh insanity.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick,"

Sherlock ran an anxious hand through his distraught curls, screwing up his eyes. "Please, just say it," he said, blinking rapidly.

"I can't. Not to you."

"Why?"

"Because…" Molly's voice broke as she averted her eyes. "Because it's true," she whispered faintly. "Because…it's…," she took a shuddering breath as tears spilled down her tender face. "…it's…true, Sherlock."

He stared at her wide-eyed, with his thin lips parted in shock.

"It's always been true." she wept, unable to hold herself back from crying.

Sherlock straightened. Whether or not this impossible statement was true was of no import. He simply had to save her from Eurus.

"Well, if it's true, just say it anyway."

Molly laughed in disbelief.

"You bastard." she said, shaking her head as she stifled a sob.

"Say it anyway." he continued firmly.

"You say it," countered Molly. Sherlock took a step backward. "Go on, you say it first," she repeated.

Sherlock blinked, frowned, thought, and wrestled confusion in a moment.

"What?" he asked.

"Say it," said Molly bluntly. Her expression softened. "Say it like you mean it."

Eurus' sallow face flashed across the screen.

"Final thirty seconds," she dictated. The clock spiraled ever downward.

31…30…29…

Sherlock faced the screen, his sparkling green eyes closed in trepidation. Taking a marked breath, he summoned the courage to say the words.

"I…I…" he hesitated.

Molly shut her eyes against a flood of salty tears and brought a free hand near her face. She placed it upon her other hand as if to strengthen herself. Sherlock had lowered his head. In an instant, he raised it up to the screen where Molly was.

"I love you," he said softly. "I…love you."

Molly blinked away tears as she took the phone away from her face, looking at its screen. She appeared to be moments from hanging up, causing Sherlock to step closer to the screen.

"Molly, please," he said, fighting back terror as eternity eclipsed these short, critical moments.

00.13…00.12…00.11…

She gazed off into the distance, rubbed a hand over her mouth, and breathed in. Molly spoke gently, with the phone next to her mouth.

"I love you."

Relief flooded into Sherlock's tense frame as the countdown beeped a cancel alert.

00.02.76.

He sighed heavily and buried his head in both hands, mentally and emotionally drained from the heart-stopping turmoil he had narrowly staved off. The camera displayed Molly placing her phone face down as her two hands unconsciously met her mouth. Sherlock addressed Eurus through a prison security camera.

"I won. I saved Molly Hooper."

Eurus snorted.

"Saved her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy? You _didn't_ win. You lost,"

Sherlock frowned perplexedly as Eurus continued.

"Look what you did to her. Look what you did to yourself. All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time."

Sherlock cast his eyes to the coffin in realization.

"What have I done," he muttered breathlessly, horrified at himself. His emotions evolved from bewilderment to confusion to inexpressible grief. Then to rage. Boundless rage. He struck the coffin sitting beside him with splintering force as it snapped and shattered under the burden of his frustration. Molly deserved the best. And he had been foolish enough to buy Eurus' games at her expense. His deep cries of grief rang out in desperation.

"You mindless fool!" shouted Sherlock.

Lightning flashed. Thunder roared above the prison fortress. And Molly Hooper was crying.

 _Sorry for all the feels! *shakes fists at Moffat* This was an extremely emotional Sherlolly episode and I had to do it justice. Anyway, this is 1 of the 10 chapters I have planned, and I aim to publish a new one each week. What do you think happens next? Comment below and read on. :D_

 _–Yours Truly, silvannight_


	2. Chapter 2

_(Author's note: Welcome fandom! I will go down with this ship. *cries* Enjoy chapter 2! w)_

Molly relived those terrifying moments in her cozy kitchen, trying to contemplate the sheer reality of what occurred only three weeks prior.

 _"Just…say those words for me,"_

Molly closed her eyes tight. Sherlock's desperate voice echoed across her thoughts like an unwelcomed guest she that couldn't bring herself to kick out.

 _"Please, just say it."_

She gazed longingly out of the kitchen window. Molly had never dared to dream of Sherlock loving her. Those hopes had dissolved years ago in a mortifying deduction-shaming at Christmas. She knew the reality of her emotional dilemma. She understood the need to move on. So why did it feel impossible?

 _"Well, if it's true, just say it anyway."_

Molly fought back a tear. Now she remembered why. It was because Sherlock didn't care if she truly loved him or not. He only needed to hear three, insignificant words strung together to satisfy some obscure game of his. She was one of his pawns, a little tool to be thrown around. Molly hated it. In that moment, she detested everything Sherlock had ever done to her.

 _"I love you."_

Molly chuckled with scorn. She wanted so badly to believe those words. But how could they possibly be true? Sherlock was one enormous hypocrite, playing with her emotions while pretending to have some. Then her heart softened. Molly remembered the gentle strains of his words. Genuine. Real. Caring even. And his words struck chords into her grieving, dissonant spirit. She wrestled with the hurt Sherlock inflicted and the love that seemed to grow for him regardless. Despite her suffering, Molly knew that her heart would always be connected to Sherlock Holmes.

"Waaaaaahh!" Baby Rosie's cries jolted Molly out of her thoughts. The brunette quickly shifted her compassionate eyes towards her wailing godchild.

"Shhh, shhh," she coaxed. "Molly's here, sweetheart." She bounced Rosie on her hip, feeding her from a bottle while doing so. After Rosie's ear piercing shrieks gradually fell to subdued murmurs, Molly laid John and Mary's baby girl into her crib. Rosie's room wasn't much to look at, containing only a crib, rocking chair, toy box, and a hasty sky-blue paint job on the walls. Molly was still proud of her handiwork. She had done her best for John, as he struggled with the loss of his wife, Mary.

"Poor John," she said to herself. "He deserves so much better." Turning to leave the room, she left her hand on the light switch, stealing a last look at Rosie before closing the door. Rosie's little eyes fluttered shut onto her plump, rosy-red cheeks in the most adorable manner. The thought of John and Sherlock looking at her sweet face and being painfully reminded of Mary hurt Molly's kind spirit.

She exhaled. It is what it is.

"Sweet dreams, Rosie," she whispered. Shutting the lights off, Molly quietly closed Rosie's door and left, careful not to disturb the baby's peaceful slumber.

Molly stretched as she returned to her little kitchen. Warm lemon curtains enveloped a window above the sink, and well-kept pots and pans smiled as they playfully hung from the backsplash. Off to the right, tan wood formed the table and chairs, and all around were little floral arrangements hidden in cozy nooks. Sunflowers, daffodils, and green ferns were kept in pots labeled with her bubbly handwriting. Her little home had a kind, sensible feel to it; and its cordial glow numbed the pain of recollecting Sherlock's voice over the phone.

Molly shook her head in self-loathing. There were better things to do than to dwell on the past. She opened her orderly fridge and checked out the grocery list she had removed from her purse and stuck on the door with magnets.

 _"I ought to go shopping soon. Maybe grab some pasta, pick up diapers and such for Rosie…"_

A sudden rap on the front door called for her attention.Who would be knocking? The doorbell worked perfectly fine. Molly approached the door and stood on her tiptoes to gaze through the peephole. No one was there, but as she turned her head away, something caught her eye. Molly looked back again with curiosity. Looking at the lower rim of the blurry peephole, she discovered a cardboard box sitting on her doorstep. Molly frowned slightly. She hadn't ordered any packages at all; so who had brought a random box to her door?

Molly opened the door cautiously, as a London breeze swept through her ponytail, bringing in the sounds of honking taxis and hissing buses.

 _"It can't be dangerous,"_ thought Molly. _"Best take it inside and write down the return address for the postman."_ After looking left and right without discovering any trace of the peculiar benefactor, she picked up the package and noticed something different. Her door knocker was lopsided.

"Well that's odd," said Molly aloud, straightening the knocker before heading inside. She set the mysterious parcel down upon her table and fetched some scissors to open it. She didn't like using knives. They reminded her too much of the morgue.

"Strange, no return address anywhere…or address at all," remarked Molly as she flipped the package around on all sides. Upon cutting it open, Molly came across a wide variety of items. Strangely enough, every one of them fit her needs exactly. Diapers, wet wipes, a pacifier for Rosie, Italian penne, laundry detergent, fresh fruit, vegetables, plus brand new pens and even more coupons for her usual purchases were inside the cardboard box.

Molly threw her hands up in astonishment as she dug out all the items and spread them over her table. Who could this possibly be from?

Molly peered into the bottom of the near empty box. Now she could clearly see a slip of white paper taped to the inside. It only read:

-S.H.

Her heart froze.

"Sherlock…" she breathed.

After the shock wore off, Molly stepped back from the table and clenched her fists, screwing her eyes shut. She felt like chucking the whole box across the room and screaming louder than ever. But she didn't. Molly sat down while her anger swirled inside her, ruminating over Sherlock's gift in her thoughts. She chewed her lip and wrapped her legs tightly to her chest. After a minute or two, her eyes shifted towards the note, and back again to the floor. Deciding against her better judgment, Molly reached out a hand for the note, hesitated for a moment, and then picked it up, holding the note in front of her curled up legs, gazing at it over her arms. A tranquil, dreamy look subtly transformed her face, softening her red eyes and easing the tension between her eyebrows. With the very smallest of smiles, Molly traced a thoughtful finger over the cursive "S" and "H" of the note.

 _"I love you."_ Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock meant those three little words.

 _(Author's note: MOLLY MY CHILD. She is such a dear and I just want her to be happy! Back to y'all: Do you think I portrayed Molly's emotions well? Is there something you would change or add? Let me know in the comments. Thank you all for your support, and I can't wait to write more!)_

 _–_ _Yours Truly, silvannight :D_


	3. Chapter 3

_(Author's note: I am extremely sorry for not posting lately. I guess I've been on hiatus. But look on the bright side, at least you didn't have to wait 2 years like we did for Season 4! *sigh* That was rough. Anyways, school has been very intense, but to make up for it, I've posted this as the first of 2 new chapters. You might want to re-read the last chapter to remember what happened._ _I hope you like this one! This chapter shifts to Sherlock's POV in the 3_ _rd_ _person.)_

Sherlock deftly removed his sleek magnifying glass from his pocket and examined the corpse before him. He had taken a cab to the morgue after receiving a call from Lestrade, who stood in the corner with a fresh cup of coffee.

"Aaron Carr. Middle-aged. Male. Caucasian. Works in accounting, " began Lestrade. "The security footage we have shows Carr leaving the tube at around 6 pm, and then an hour later the janitor found his body crammed into a bathroom stall. Strangled to death. He was a normal guy, Sherlock. But this…it doesn't make sense." Lestrade gestured to the body in incredulity, "No one's found anything to link him with a known suspect. It's got the Yard stumped."

Sherlock remained silent, ascertaining every clue on the dead man's body at a rate that made computers look useless.

"Not custom made," Sherlock mumbled. He observed that Carr couldn't afford a custom-made suit, so he wasn't a CEO. Sherlock concluded Carr was an employer. However, his coat jacket was missing. The only other pieces of evidence were Carr's broken glasses, phone, and untouched wallet. But the detective wasn't focused on the case anymore. Sherlock looked back at the corpse with a blank stare; his eyes were hollow, glazed over with uneasiness. Lestrade gave the detective an expectant look.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade paused, waiting for an answer. "Anything? Anything at all?" Sherlock continued to stare at the morgue slab, never once breaking his gaze from it. The image of Molly lying dead there crept back into his mind, and it refused to leave. Sherlock blinked rapidly and attempted to push that thought away.

"I'll be around if you need me. Just call." Lestrade said with an exasperated expression as Sherlock peered through his magnifying glass without responding. The inspector furrowed his brow and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Look, Sherlock. I don't know what's on your mind, but if you need to let this case go—"

Sherlock broke his concentration and made eye contact with the concerned inspector. "I am more than able to solve this case, Lestrade. I will not allow—" Another picture of Molly screaming stopped him midsentence before he continued, "—my own concerns to interfere with my reasoning. Are we clear?"

Lestrade nodded once, although he bit his lip as he did so. "Good luck on the case, Sherlock."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," said Sherlock plainly.

"You're going to need it," called Lestrade over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

The detective turned back towards the body and opened the doors to his intricate mind palace to focus on the case at hand. At the least, it would get his mind off of Molly. Using the footage, evidence and his knowledge of the station, Sherlock mentally immersed himself in the crime scene. Bleached light reflected off of dirty wall tiles, and the air smelled dusty and the vaguest bit metallic. Sherlock imagined the beeping of swiped tickets and the sustained hubbub of the masses rushing to their stops. He followed Carr down the crowded stairs, past the ticket booth, and sat down with him in the tube, scrutinizing every passenger with his searching eyes.

"Not you. Not you. Definitely, not you," he said aloud as he cut out possible suspects.

A brunette woman sitting across from Sherlock stopped his train of thought entirely. The passengers seemed to freeze in slow motion as Sherlock's mind willed them to. The passenger was unnecessary to the case. But she had brown hair, just like Molly. In an instant, the brunette woman vanished as Molly suddenly appeared in her place. But something was wrong. Very wrong. Molly Hooper was crying.

"No, no. Get out!" Sherlock held his head in his hands. Molly had suffered worse than anyone he had encountered. She had suffered him. It was that feeling of guilt that burned him from the inside out.But that was only the beginning. Inside the carriage, the subway door slid open normally, but the sound of it was entirely off: it sounded like a wooden office door creaking on its hinges. Sherlock threw his head up abruptly, confused as he ascertained what was happening.

Outside of his mind palace, Molly came through the wooden mortuary door with a clipboard, unaware of his presence. Upon looking up, she halted instantly. "Sherlock." Her eyes narrowed like sharpened flint. It was only cool defiance, restrained anger that hid her overwhelming heartache.

The subway station created by Sherlock's mind palace shattered like glass. He became astutely aware of Molly's every aspect: her tense shoulders, her angry eyes, and her fists tightly clenched around the clipboard in her hand. He stood up slowly towards her with his full attention, but failed to meet her gaze.

"Molly, I—" Sherlock took a deep breath.

"Stop." said Molly quietly. "Just stop. You've said enough." Sherlock held his tongue and hung his head.

"When you called me, I picked up. You know why?" Molly stepped forward. "I thought it would be nice. To talk to you. But I was very, very wrong,"

"I did not mean to hurt you." Sherlock interrupted. "On the contrary—"

Molly shook her head and chuckled in angry disbelief. "I gave you a chance, Sherlock. After all you've put me through, I gave you a chance to redeem yourself. I thought maybe, just maybe, you would, but—" Molly choked back a sob. Wiping away tears, she said, "But you didn't. You used me, Sherlock! You made me say…words…that I'm not ready to face." She paused. "Why?"

Sherlock phrased his next words very carefully. "Because I thought I was protecting you. I was convinced that my sister Eurus was going to hurt you—"

"Oh, you've done that already, Sherlock." Molly turned to leave.

"Molly, wait." Sherlock held out a pleading hand towards her.

Molly shut the door behind her.

 _(Author's note: TOO MANY FEELS. I'll try not to drop an atomic bomb of sadness all the time. Good things will come. Just wait for it! (unintentional Hamilton reference) Anyways, thanks for your patience in waiting for this chapter._ _Who do you sympathize with more: Molly or Sherlock? Let me know in the comments!)_

 _(P.S. Bonus points to whoever find the subway train pun in this chapter first.)_

 _(P.P.S. I'm very excited to go to Tennessee for Thanksgiving! Not that it's too important or anything, I just can't wait to see my family again. Enough chit chat. I'll do my best not to go on hiatus for the next chapter!)_

 _-Yours Truly, silvannight :D_


	4. Chapter 4

_(Author's note: *sigh* this chapter is among my favorites so far. I promised to publish two chapters in one day, so here you go! I hope you like it as much as I do.)_

Sherlock tossed and turned in bed late at night, as did his restless thoughts. It was quiet inside the flat except for the dull roar of cars outside. Normally, it didn't bother him, but tonight he was wide awake. Turning over in his crumpled sheets, Sherlock checked his phone. The bright light from it caused him to squint his eyes before the screen came into focus. It was 2:26 A.M. Lestrade had left two voicemails. Sherlock groaned and deleted them both without listening as he slumped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't anywhere close to solving the Aaron Carr case, and for once in his life, he could care less about solving it.

Sherlock could not stop thinking about Molly.

He had a special room in his mind palace, just for her. And recently, he found himself locked inside that room without a key. It was a spacious, ornate French ballroom with enormous, gold-inlaid paintings hanging on the walls. However, instead of displaying rich monarchs decked in velvet, every portrait depicted a moving picture of Molly. One depicted her hard at work in the morgue, another showed her looking up at him expectantly as they solved the case of Jack the Ripper. Soon after, Sherlock turned around and caught a glimpse of his favorite picture. Molly stood in his flat around Christmastime, dazzling the room with a beautiful smile. Sherlock smiled. She was absolutely stunning.

The chandeliers in the mind-palace ballroom suddenly dimmed. Sherlock looked around in horror as the painting showed him heartlessly examining her present. He saw her lips tremble. Her eyes watered and she looked away as he cut her with his words. Sherlock shouted at the painting from his mind palace. "You fool! You idiot!" He sank to his knees as his shouts faded into tumultuous echoes.

Sherlock sat up with a start, shocked back into reality. He looked around and he was back in bed. It was quiet again, and the sun had just begun to rise. Sherlock wiped a hand across his forehead and looked at it. Sweat dripped from it. It was another mind-palace nightmare, one he had been having for weeks. Sherlock clenched his fist and unfurled the sheets as he came to a decision. Today, Sherlock wasn't going to let John drop Rosie off at Molly's apartment. Sherlock would. He had an apology to make.

Striding through his messy flat with purpose; Sherlock showered quickly, buttoned up his coat jacket, vigorously combed his untamed curls, and fed Rosie with determination. He looked a bit ridiculous riding in a taxi cab, all straight-faced whilst carrying a baby in a papoose.

Later, the cab pulled up to Molly's door, which Sherlock approached and raised a hand to knock upon. He hesitated, holding his hand inches from the wooden surface. After taking a deep breath, he rapped the door twice. Molly answered it. Her face conveyed surprise, embarrassment, and hurt all in one look.

"I didn't expect you to come with Rosie," she said flatly.

"Well, I'd thought I'd save John the trouble," blinked Sherlock.

"Come on in, we don't want her catching cold now," said Molly, stepping away from the door.

The two of them headed inside as Molly brought out Rosie's food. Sherlock stepped towards her as she prepared a bottle of milk.

"I can do that for you, if you'd like," offered Sherlock. Molly shifted her eyes uncomfortably before answering.

"Sure. Thanks." Molly pursed her lips into a hard line. He handed Rosie to her gently as he mixed up the milk solution.

"Do you mind if I hang my coat up?" asked Sherlock.

"Be my guest," she spread a small hand towards a mounted coat hanger.

"Thanks." Sherlock removed his black trenchcoat to reveal a light blue button-down. Molly sat down at the table with Rosie in her arms. After shaking the milk solution, Sherlock presented the filled bottle to Molly and sat down across from her. He rested his hands on the table and took a sharp breath.

"Molly," he began, looking at his hands. "I…I owe you a very important apology."

"Brilliant deduction." Molly crossed her arms.

Sherlock winced inwardly yet continued. "The whole phone call was a ruse set up by Eurus, an imprisoned criminal. She coerced me into believing you were in real danger, and I fell for it. I was convinced those words were the only way to save you."

A deep silence fell between them as Molly contemplated what Sherlock had said.

"I never meant to harm you in any way," he continued, "In the moment, I thought forcing you to say those words would protect you. After much painful reflection, I now realize what a horrible mistake I have made."

"Sherlock," interrupted Molly.

"I'm sorry. I've been such a terrible—"

"Sherlock," she repeated.

"Yes?" He screwed his eyebrows together in pain as looked her in the eyes. He looked at her with tear-filled eyes, biting his lip to keep them from spilling over. Sherlock's real look of regret touched Molly to her core.

"Sherlock, those words I said," Molly breathed deeply. "They are still true."

Sherlock looked up from the floor sharply. Hope peeked through his despairing eyes as he processed Molly's words. Molly continued to speak.

"I had no idea what you wanted. When you called, I mean. It hurt me, Sherlock. You wouldn't stop asking me to say…it," she took a sharp breath and swallowed her dry throat. "Promise me you'll never, never do that again."

Sherlock looked Molly straight in the eyes. "I promise," he said. "And…I'm so very sorry."

"I forgive you, Sherlock." Molly exhaled, releasing all her pain with it.

"Molly…" he breathed. "I-I don't know what to say."

"Well that's a first," said Molly, as she glanced away with a chuckle. To her happy surprise, Sherlock laughed along with her. It was a sweet laugh that brightened his keen face, and Molly found that she couldn't look away from it. Sherlock leaned forward in his chair.

"Molly Hooper, from now on I vow to be a better man and a kinder one, for your sake."

Molly smiled. "Oh Sherlock, I think you already are."

"Really?" Sherlock looked surprised. "I think "insufferable arse" paints a better picture, don't you think?"

"You said it first, not me." Molly shrugged her shoulders. Sherlock's priceless look quickly turned into infectious laughter that Molly couldn't resist. It felt good to laugh again.

"Molly," Sherlock began, "Are you currently occupied this Saturday?"

Molly's honest eyes flew open in surprise. "This Saturday? Me? No. Why?" She pinched herself for speaking so rapidly.

"How does fish and chips sound?" asked Sherlock hopefully.

"Fish and chips? What time?" Molly smiled to hide her excited nerves.

"Saturday at 4." he answered.

"4 it is." Molly beamed.

 _(SDFKSJLFJD I should not have been given this power! It feels so good to make them happy ((bc we both know Moffat won't)). I really hope this chapter was worth the wait. How did you like the mind palace "ballroom"? Let me know in the comments. I played with the idea for awhile before actually deciding to put it in…so I hope it's not too odd. n)_

 _-Yours Truly, silvannight :D_


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